Unforgivable
by hpaddictedg
Summary: Sometimes, actions can be just as unforgivable as curses, words can mean nothing, the fact that she's forbidden can only make you want her more...and people can be so much more (or less) than they seem.


**A/N: **I was browsing the 'plot bunnies' section of fictionalley and came upon an idea quite like this one. I wrote it, but modified it a bit, because I can. So there. By the way, this contains one-sided Neville/Ginny, which is evil but just happened somehow. Also, this is disjoined and skips from the present to the past.

_Unforgivable _

He holds his wand behind his back with a trembling hand. The body lies there before him, eyes wide and condemning but nearly hidden by the hood of the midnight-black robes.

"You coming?" one of them shouts to him.

"In a second," he replies. Leaving the body feels like a crime, but he does it anyway.

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What if something had gone wrong? What if he had mispronounced the spell? What if he had lost his nerve? What if the green light had been streaking towards his own face instead of the Death Eater's? _What if...?_

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"You know," Harry says consolingly to him, "it was bound to happen at some point. How did you expect to do it, be an Auror and never kill anyone?"

"I didn't expect it to happen so _soon_," he replies. "I don't know why I did it, really..."

"It was self-defense!" Harry returns indignantly. "You remember, don't you?"

"Of course," he lies, though all he remembers now is the swirling of saccharine, sickly green light and the screams-_oh, the screams_. "I'm just tired, that's all."

"Alright," Harry says nervously. "You really _do_ need some sleep, I think. You were tossing and turning all last night."

"Oh?" he replies, remembering the dreams. "I think I'll go take a nap, then." He leaves Harry to his thoughts.

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The wand is slippery in his hand; he mentally curses himself and his nerves and takes a step forward.

"Oh, you've got a _wand_, have you?" the Death Eater laughs, rolling his dark eyes. "I'm _afraid_ now. Just _terrified_." Little does he know that these will be his last words.

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Harry's eyes are the color of the killing spell. Harry's eyes watch him everywhere he goes. Harry's eyes are wide and condemning, just like those of the corpse. _Harry's eyes are strangling him_.

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"How about we play a game of chess?" Harry offers, smiling uneasily. He watches as the dim light of the room glints in Harry's eyes.

"No, but thanks, anyway," he responds. "I'm busy." Harry finds it hard to believe him.

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He walks away from the corpse slowly, occasionally taking a look back. The body hasn't moved, and he wonders what will happen to it. He wonders if one of the fallen man's comrades will move it, or if the werewolves and beasts of the forest will get to it first. Beside himself, he finds that he's hoping for the latter.

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"You haven't been yourself lately," Ginny says with a slight tone of annoyance in her voice. "What's bothering you?"

"Nothing," he lies. "I'm just tired, that's all."

"I'm not surprised," Ginny replies. "I hear you whimpering in your sleep sometimes."

"Do I really?" he asks nonchalantly, remembering the slight feeling of freedom that he had experienced after the murder. "I didn't know that."

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Ginny could never understand. She's killed so many people now that she doesn't even think about it anymore. She claims that while she's doing the killing, she's really thinking about her brothers and about home, but he always sees a strange, unsettling look in her eye when she does it. He thinks that she enjoys it.

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"We're your friends!" Ron pleads. "You know that you can tell us what's wrong; why won't you?"

"Nothing's wrong!" he cries defensively. "It's just hard, okay?"

"What's hard?" Ron asks.

"The killing," he replies softly. "I don't like the killing."

"None of us do," Ron says, looking away. It's obvious that he's lying.

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Harry tells him to think of it as revenge. Ron tells him to think of it as justice. Hermione tells him to think of it as 'natural selection', whatever _that_ means. Ginny tells him not to think of it at all. Revenge doesn't suit him, justice isn't as important as redemption, 'natural selection' has no meaning to him, and _he can't stop thinking about it_, no matter how hard he tries. His subconscious makes sure of that.

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Ginny's hair is the color of blood. He knows that she means well, but every time he looks at her, he imagines blood spilling from his veins and staining his clothing red. This only makes him want to touch it more. We always want what we cannot have, after all, and Ginny is forbidden. He's asked her before and she always refuses.

"We can't ever be more than friends," she always says. "You know that." He knows that she means that she _can't_ ever like him as more than a friend, but he will never be content with this knowledge.

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"Dear Gran," he writes late at night,

"How are Mum and Dad doing? Do they remember me? I killed Blaise Zabini a few days ago-" He stops, crumples up the paper, and throws it across the room, ashamed that he feels so badly about everything. Zabini was the enemy. But he still hadn't been ready.

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Hermione is so nice to him. _Too_ nice, really, considering everything that has happened. She tells him that it wasn't his fault and that what he did was right. She also tells him that Ginny is a fool for not liking him, but he knows that _he's_ the real fool. People like Ginny are not supposed to like people like him. He supposes that he's destined to be alone and vows not to think about it anymore. Nevertheless, he's up late again that night, _wondering_.

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Harry's death-eyes bore into him.

"You're going to tell me what's wrong," he says firmly.

"I won't."

"Why not?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

_"I can't." _

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He walks farther and farther away from the body, guilt rising in his throat like bile.

"Are you coming, Neville?"

_(I'm trying.)_

"Yes."

"Hurry up!"

_(I can't.)_

"Alright." Neville looks back at the body one last time and feels as though he's going to be ill.

(the _end_)


End file.
